


Make Me

by Brinchestiel



Series: Destiel Drabbles, Prompts, One-shots, IDK. [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Roommates, Castiel is a Tease, Dean Flirts, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 01:01:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6449161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brinchestiel/pseuds/Brinchestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short drabble completed for an Anonymous flower on tumblr, who provided me with the following prompt:<br/>“Come over here and make me.”</p><p>Dean seems intent on hogging the remote, but gets more than he bargained for when Castiel takes up his challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Me

** Make Me **

****

Surrounded by reference books, held open by a plethora of half-drunk coffees, Castiel was surprised that he even noticed Dean change the channel on the television.

“Hey!” he complains, turning a scowl to his flat mate, who seemed unperturbed as he channel-surfed, cold beer firmly in hand.

“What? Not like you were watching it anyway,” Dean replies, settling on an episode of Storage Hunters.

_Ugh, anything but this._

“Oh come on, you love Storage Hunters,” Dean teases, taking a long pull of his beer.

“Whatever gave you that impression?”

Dean only shrugs, a smug grin plastered squarely on his freckled face. Castiel stares down at his textbooks, figuring Dean was probably right. He’d simply been enjoying the background noise, helping his mind not to wander to more dangerous, distracting places.

Like the place in his head that likes to scream endlessly about how stupidly attractive his flat mate is.

Thinking stuff like that has a funny way of hindering one’s academic progress.

“Okay,” he relents with a put-upon sigh, “but you have to promise to change it over in half an hour, there’s a documentary I want t-“

Dean interrupts him with a groan, “How many more documentaries can there possibly be? Surely you’ve seen them all. _Surely_.”

“You never stop learning,” Castiel smiles, typing out another quote from one of his collection of books.

They sit in a warm, almost domestic atmosphere; Dean pointing out particularly valuable items that the contestants wrongly pass as worthless, or describes what he might do with that old cabinet. That’s the most beautiful thing about Dean, in Castiel’s opinion: he always sees the beauty in everything, especially in places where others wouldn’t even think to look for it. Dean has a place in his heart for most things. Castiel wonders if there’s a place for him, too, how big it might be compared to… say, Sam, or pie.

As the credits roll, Castiel saves his work, closing up his books and collecting the various mugs to take them to the kitchen, making himself up a mug of hot chocolate for a job well done. Another 1,000 words of his essay, and six new references to be footnoted, hell yes that deserves a hot chocolate. Maybe with marshmallows.

“I think it’s on channel 4,” he shouts over the hum of the microwave. He frowns when he doesn’t hear the TV change. He abandons the marshmallows in favour of haste, gripping the hot mug with sleeve-covered hands.

“Dean?”

His flat mate flips the remote non-chalant on his jean-clad thigh, craning his head to look over the back of the sofa,

“You want me to change the channel, Cas?”

Castiel pulls up short in the doorway of the kitchen, finding himself unable to place the tone of Dean’s voice… there’s a smirk, and a hint of tease in his voice, but there’s… there’s something else too. Castiel narrows his eyes.

“Yes, to channel 4, please,” he says slowly. He would be lying if he said he’d missed Dean’s tongue darting out to wet his plump bottom lip. It would also be a lie to say that Cas didn’t almost drop the mug in his hands at what Dean said next:

“Come over here and make me.”

“Sor- wh- I didn- I beg your pardon?”

Dean turns back around to face the TV with a murmured, “You heard.”

But, Castiel can’t be absolutely sure he heard correctly, because it sounded an awful lot like a flirtation, making blood roar in his ears, heart jackhammering against his ribs. He squares his shoulders. He’s sure Dean had just meant it as a joke. A friendly joke. _Banter_. He makes sure to place his hot chocolate safely on the coffee table before reaching out over the back of the sofa to grab the remote.

“You gotta try harder than that, squirt,” comes Dean’s quiet response, and Castiel is almost certain he imagines Dean’s fingers tightening around the bottle of beer in his grasp, knuckles and fingertips turning white.

“Dean, just-“ Castiel makes another swipe, “give it to me.”

Dean chuckles, holding the remote out in front of him, at arm’s length. Castiel drapes himself over Dean’s shoulder, but the sofa is too bulky, and he ends up grasping at the bunched up sleeve of Dean’s shirt at his elbow. If he can just… almost… th-

“Jesus!” Dean curses as Castiel tumbles over the back of the sofa, causing Dean’s beer to spill a little over his hand. Castiel scrabbles none too gracefully kneeling beside Dean to reach more easily, but then Dean stretches his arm up and over his head with a glint in his eye that looks… dangerous. Misinterpreting this is dangerous… deliciously so.

Possessed with a confidence he would never normally feel, if it weren’t for the encouragement provided by the slight tinge of red colouring Dean’s neck and cheeks, the way Dean’s breath hitches just a little, Castiel blankets his body over his flat mate’s in order to make a reach for the remote.

He feels Dean’s hips buck ever so slightly, he can’t have imagined that.

 _Well_ , Castiel thinks savagely, _two can play at that game._

He throws a leg over Dean’s, straddling his hips, butterflies whipping up a storm within him, sending pleasant tingles all the way to the tips of his fingers. He watches as Dean’s eyes begin to droop, his lips parting ever so slightly on a sigh.

A shot of triumph bursts through Castiel’s chest; he’s 99% certain that Dean was flirting, that this is what he was after all along.

Shocked by his suddenly brazen behaviour, Castiel leans down, pressing his chest to Dean’s, their noses touching, breath mingling. Dean is all but panting against him.

He walks his fingers slowly up the soft tanned skin of Dean’s arm, leaning ever closer and rocking his hips a little against Dean, an almost imperceptible movement, but one that he hopes serves as distraction enough when Dean lets out a quiet moan.

“Give it to me, Dean,” he murmurs, delighting in the obvious double-entendre and the fact that Dean turns all the redder for it, swallowing loudly with a frantic shake of his head.

Castiel presses all the closer, his free hand trailing heavily down Dean’s chest to bunch the shirt in a fist at Dean’s hip which rolls upwards in a steady shallow rhythm. Castiel resists the urge to crush his lips against Dean’s, but settles for the tantalizing tease of almost. He can taste Dean’s breath in his mouth, their top lips mere millimeters from one another.

“Dean,” he whispers, just to feel Dean shudder beneath him, before he leans up, the movement easily interpreted as a writhe of sorts, before he uses the scant inches he’s gained to close his hand over the remote, snatching it from Dean’s hand with a cry of victory.

Castiel tries very hard to mask the labored nature of his breathing, or the heat on his cheeks and between his hips as he smoothly disentangles himself from his flat mate, turning the channel over to the documentary that started all this. He leans forward to pick up his hot chocolate, trying to look as casual as he can, despite the fine tremor in his fingers.

His smile is a little shy when he hears Dean clear his throat, palming subtly at the front of his jeans.

It was totally worth it. Honey bees really are the most fascinating creatures.


End file.
